


Two Beats of the same Heart, and One Skipped from Fright

by dalekacies



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalekacies/pseuds/dalekacies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His breath came out in short, shallow puffs. One, two, three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Beats of the same Heart, and One Skipped from Fright

His breath came out in short, shallow puffs. One, two, three.  Even, constant, (not at all like his heart. No, not at all, no. His heart went ba-dum ba-dum, then stopped all at once) and reliable. He lifted the cigarette to his frosted lips, his gloved hand sliding closer and closer to the flame.

 _What would it be like to touch it?_ Sherlock wondered. His eyes twinkled with the possibility of danger, of mischief. Would it hurt? No, of course it wouldn’t. Nothing hurt anymore. He was detached. (Such an odd thing to be, detached. Almost...sensual. But not at all amazing. Just unnerving, heightening, and, if he was to admit it, a little bit frightening.) Sherlock let his finger slide closer and closer to the everlasting heat. On the count of two, he decided, he would try to burn his finger, maybe his whole hand. Maybe then his outside would match his inside.

(No, no it wouldn’t. His inside was much, much worse. Terrible insides, he had, really. All writihing and shaking and burnt to the core. And why the count of two? No, two would be bad. Two is a very, very bad number- two sides of a coin. Yin and Yang. A couple. John and Sherlock,  Sherlock and John. And of course, worst of it all, the sound of a human heart beating. And who would want to be reminded that they were a vulnerable human?)

Back on track. Lost his train of thought, didn’t he? Lost his mind, too. Maybe his sanity. Hmm. Sherlock forgot about his finger completely, his mind occupied with thoughts of his (terribly existent, though he refused to acknowledge it…) sanity. Or, (according to him,) lack thereof.

And then, as his hands clenched tighter and tigher, he heard a scream.

A scream, but not one that he had heard before. No, not at all.

It was John’s scream.


End file.
